Revelations of a Slummy Mummy

November Cheer So it’s nearing the end of November and we’ve been corporately bombarded with Christmas for almost a month already. Shops are decorated, celebrations are in full swing and general Christmas paraphernalia abounds everywhere. Unlike our American friends, we don’t have the hurdle of Thanksgiving to jump before we can legitimately reason that Christmas is upon us, and as such decide the season needs to last a full two months to really make it count. We must at least feel like we’re getting value for money given the amount we merrily wave off every December. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no scrooge and can generally turn any event into an excuse for an all-out party, but as a parent I resent that Santa materialises from the North Pole (or Lapland, or wherever he actually lives) a full six weeks before December 25 th . Is his heating broken? Has he employed an army of machines to replace his politically incorrect elfish helpers and finish two months ahead

This is a pretty deep post, hugely personal but also something I think the world needs to hear about more. In essence it speaks of abuse, and how that abuse does not affect only the victim, but spreads like a ripple effect into the lives of all those surrounding her. This is in tribute to my mum, a beautiful soul who was abused in the most horrific way imaginable. Please read if you are able, and please please, if you think for one second a child you know may be experiencing abuse, speak up. You may be the voice they just don’t have. Once Upon a Time Once upon a time there lived a beautiful Princess Child. She lived in the Land of Love; a place full of springtime joy and colourful summer. Birds sang, their magical music adding depth to the already saturated kingdom. Princess Childs’ hair shone like the moonlit night, her eyes were small sparkling oceans and her face radiated warmth and sunshine. Like all the other children, Princess Child was special and uniq

I have this mate C. Whenever we get together, ridiculous things happen- I’ve come to expect it as a universal law of physics. If you put us into a formula we’d look something like this: L+C=chaos squared + tears of laughter. She is the only other person I know whose children are genuinely as crazy as mine, and who isn’t afraid to embrace the madness. C came to visit in the summer with her two lovely girlies. Her girls and my girls get on like a house on fire and we were treated to a spectacular array of theatrical talent throughout the morning, mostly based around a very original version of the Harlem Shake. One which I add, I had to pull from all public social network forums since my eight year old decided rubbing her bare chested nipples while gyrating her hips wearing pants on her head constituted a decent dance move.  Even worse, when C asked where she learned such groovy moves her response pointed straight at me. “That’s how mummy dances.” For the record,

First up, apologies for the length of time that’s passed since my last post. The summer was crazy, my youngest has since started school and we’ve tackled one small family crisis after another for the last few months- as you do. Business as usual then. Excuses aside, I’d like to put a disclaimer out right here. This topic is something close to my heart, and is in no way meant to insult or guilt trip you lovely people; but rather inform and educate from the perspective of those of us living in the parallel universe of disability. The biggest hurdle we face as parents of special kids is an ignorance and lack of education on behalf of the world. These barriers infiltrate our everyday; irksome diversion signs on this long haul journey to destination unknown. Take a walk in my shoes for a while … . Five things you should never say to a special needs parent … .. (and a few things you should) 1. God only gives special kids to special people, and God never gives